Without Fear
by LZ0291
Summary: New York, 2015. Bruce Wayne has returned to America after many years away, during which Gotham became part of NYC, but the criminal elements didn't change much. They remain a superstitious and cowardly lot, but they are many in number, and Gotham is part of larger city now, a city that has her own criminal problems. That's where another vigilante in black comes in.


**May 20, 1999  
** **Hell's Kitchen**  
 **New York City**

Patrick Malone eyed the white NYPD Crown Victoria for maybe a few seconds too long. Maybe he was too paranoid, maybe he was too tired from having been on the run all night and all day so far, maybe he was just more used to an all-black Chevrolet Caprice as being a 'cop car' in his eyes. He didn't dwell on it as he saw one of the cops inside looking back.

Of course the New York cops had been given his description. The Crime of the Century had been pinned on him back in Gotham. They'd have his description halfway around the world by now.

The two cops were talking. Does that guy look like the suspect for the murders in New Jersey, he imagined one said. Yeah, the other replied, reaching for the radio.

Malone reached into his pocket, thumbing back the hammer as he drew...

* * *

Officer Hoffman had barely picked up his handset when the suspicious individual drew a revolver and fired three shots at the windscreen. He and his partner dived down, suffering no worse than light cuts from glass splinters.

"Shots fired, shots fired, 10-85 at corner of 11th Avenue and West 51st, officers in need of assistance!"

" _ _All units, all units, emergency, officer in danger, 11th Avenue and West 51st, repeat, 11th Avenue and west 51st, shots fired.__ "

As the dispatcher called in support, they were fumbling to get out of the car, drawing their own weapons, as the last three shots impacted the hood and dashboard.

Malone was already running north, reloading his weapon after firing off his last three from the cylinder. It had slowed the cops down at least, but they were already out of the car, only the fact panicking crowds and braking traffic were in the line of fire sparing him. He'd got lucky, back home he figured the odds were about eight from ten the GCPD would just open up and damn the risk of crossfire. NYPD was slightly more cautious after all.

Or maybe, he realised, as he looked ahead again, the two cops had spotted their buddy right in front of him, levelling his pistol.

"Freeze, drop it!"

The third cop looked young. A rookie probably. Fresh from being a probie, fresh from the academy on parking duty or whatever hazing crap baby cops went through in NY.

Drop it, be arrested, taken back to Gotham when they confirmed who he was, and be dead by midnight for murders he didn't commit.

Shoot this baby cop with the two rounds he'd managed to load in, keep running, have the full rage of the NYPD on him for being a cop killer. Be dead by midnight.

Or the baby cop shot him first. Dead now.

Screw it, who wanted to live forever.

He raised his revolver, swinging the cylinder shut in the same motion.

Two shots rang out, from an automatic.

Malone went down. Two in his chest, lungs filling with blood already. Someone kicked the gun away from his right hand as the other .38 Special rounds in his left rolled out of his grasp. Two more pairs of footsteps neared. Voices spoke, radioing for a bus.

He'd always wondered why the NYPD called an ambulance that. Maybe he should ask while he could. It just came out as a gurgle though.

He guessed he'd never know...

* * *

" _ _Dispatch, suspect is down, need a bus and additional units at 11th and 51st...__ "

Rookie Officer Jefferson Davis realised his hands were shaking as he watched the man he'd shot ( _ _that he had shot__ ) try to say something, even as someone else was talking. He almost jumped when he heard his name.

"Hey, kid. Davis. Keep it together, dude. You're fine, this was a clean shoot, all right? He fired on us, he was raising, you've got nothing to worry about, yeah?" One of the other officers said.

He just nodded, his mouth too dry to form words.

It took two minutes for the ambulance and a dozen other cops to arrive, the road now closed and incident scene secure. The suspect was pronounced dead on arrival at Metro-General, and soon after identified as one Patrick "Matches" Malone, Gotham PD's lead suspect in the murders of Thomas and Martha Wayne just under eighteen hours before.

* * *

 **May 21**  
 **City Hall**  
 **Gotham City**

Aubrey James, Mayor of Gotham, strode to the podium, eyes glancing over the assembled press and fighting off the giddy feeling that came with any speech. It wouldn't do, not in a time of mourning.

"I thank you all for joining me today, as we reflect on the tragic events of the past few days. Two nights ago, this city was left mourning two great citizens, Thomas and Martha Wayne. They were generous and kind people, who loved this city and her people. Thomas was Doctor Wayne to many, one of the finest M.D's at Gotham Central's children's unit. Martha had long been an advocate for the homeless and needy children of the city.

For two who did so much for the children of this city, it is cruel irony that when they were spending time with one of their own children, that they would be gunned down so callously. They had taken their son Bruce to see the new Star Wars movie, and the poor boy was the only witness to this crime, from mere feet away. I cannot imagine the trauma that poor child must be undergoing, but I assure Bruce, and the citizens of Gotham, that we are here for him.

Fortunately, thanks to the swift work of the Gotham Police Department, the suspect of this crime was identified. The murder weapon, a Colt automatic, was found and linked to Patrick Malone, spotted in the area soon before the shooting. Lieutenant Loeb of the Homicide division quickly ensured that every one of the fine men and women in the Police forces of the tri-state area knew the face and name of Patrick Malone, and were warned of the danger he posed. And thanks to that warning, the NYPD brought his days of crime to an end. Malone's disregard for human life was laid bare when he opened fire on two NYPD officers, forcing a third to end his rampage.

Whatever drove Malone to kill, we can rest easy knowing he is no threat to anyone else, and we can mourn Thomas and Martha. This city was wounded by their loss, but we will stand tall, and face this criminal menace should it emerge again. Gotham is strong, and so are her people. Thank you all, God bless this city, and God bless America."

* * *

Elsewhere in Gotham, the Mayor's speech was met with amusement in a back alley weapons dealer.

"Good thing he ain't Jewish, no way something that hammy's kosher, huh, Joe?"

"Don't try steal your brother's comedy gig, Melvin, you're a godawful joker. Stick to selling guns, huh? Speaking of..."

"Yeah, yeah. You ironically need to chill out," Melvin complained as he turned the TV off.

"That was a joke, based on my surname, not selling me a gun. If you keep it up selling me a new gun may be a very bad idea, Mel..."

"Fine. What you after, another .45 to replace the one you ditched?"

"Who says I ditched it? Maybe I loaned it to Matches..." Joe shrugged.

"Sure, Joe. You said it yourself, I sell guns, and I know my customers, I keep an exclusive clientele. Most of them more sociable than you are. He didn't trust automatics after his pistol jammed in Basra. Revolvers only for him."

"Yeah, maybe. But unlike that dumbass I try to avoid gunfights in inhospitable shitholes like deserts or New York. And incidentally, may I remind you, your habit of chit-chat rather than selling shit is why most people just go to Emmet?"

"And most people get shitty Brazillian or Turkish pot-metal pipebombs instead of real guns," Melvin countered.

"And since I like my face, I tolerate your horseshit, don't I? Just show me your .45 autos..."

* * *

 **May 18, 2015  
** **Hell's Kitchen**  
 **New York City**

A black-haired man stood at of the intersection at 51st Street. A Roxxon Gas station on one corner, apartments on another. A construction site across 11th Avenue. A food market on the last corner.

The man checked his watch and began to head north. Malone had ran this way, the NYPD report said. Heading for the DeWitt Clinton Park that gave realtors a name for the neighbourhood that didn't evoke visions of the Devil and/or Gordon Ramsey. Malone hadn't got far.

A dark grey Bentley Mulsanne was parked up, a white-haired driver in his mid-sixties sitting reading the early edition of the Daily Bugle. The black-haired man entered the car.

"Curiosity satisfied, sir?"

"It's nothing much, Alfred. Just a crossroads in Manhattan. Few dozen yards away from the Daily Show studio and this park, that's all. You'd have no idea what happened here sixteen years ago looking."

"To any who remember it's simply a spot where a criminal wanted for murder died," Alfred noted.

"Wanted, but not guilty. Malone was no saint, but he didn't pull the trigger. Commissioner Loeb signed off on the report, ignored the holes in the story it was Malone. The GCPD is corrupt. We can't trust them."

"G _B_ PD, Master Bruce. And may I reiterate, that this could be enough? That you could just regain access to your fortune and then work to have Gotham integrate better? The New York Fire Department's been doing well, and we do get the odd visit from the Spider-Men, maybe the NYPD should begin patrolling the sixth borough..."

"It can't work that way, Alfred. The Gotham Police have always been an extension of the mobs. As long as there's a Gotham criminal underworld, they'll resist any mergers. On top of that, a lot of eyes are looking this way. Someone's interested in something here, that means everyone is. It won't be long until they bring their war here, assuming it isn't here already. They'll be subtle. I weaken the Gotham police, it means at the bare minimum NY takes over under an acting Mayor when Castiglione finally pulls the trigger on the Presidential bid. "

"Perhaps. Have you considered that, by the way, Sir?"

"Well, I've barely been back fourteen hours, Alfred, I need another fourteen years to run for President," Bruce smirked.

"I meant perhaps trying to become a donor for the Presidential campaigns."

"Well, I need to get access to my money first. I understand they already tried to declare me dead early?"

"Yes, so with that in mind, perhaps we should go to see if we can obtain you a lawyer, Sir."

Bruce nodded, and Alfred started up the engine.

"Are you sure they're the right men, Alfred?"

"They're a start-up partnership who apparently want to make the world a better place within the law. They're supposed to be good, but they need money. You can provide that easily enough, it shouldn't be too hard for them to prove you're alive and you should have access to your fortune. They're the right men for this job, I feel."

"We'll see."

The short drive ended, as did the conversation.

"The offices of Nelson and Murdock."

Bruce surveyed the building.

"A view of the Hudson, and of a lot of construction sites. Good thing I came back when I did, they'd never have been able to afford the rent here in eighteen months."

"You also ensured I would not be fired and that your ancestral home would not be sold to Tony Stark and bulldozed for some robot factory. Of course, if you don't regain access to your funds, that will happen anyway, and I will _definitely_ __be fired for taking the Learjet and this Bentley out to bring you home..." Alfred noted.

* * *

"Everybody loves dogs, Matt, and since when has that Bentley been parked outside?" Foggy Nelson noted, interrupting his conversation with Matt Murdock and Karen Page.

"Oh, I'll need to take a look at that..." Matt grinned, earning exasperated looks from the other two present.

Another interruption occurred, a knock from the door.

"Was that a knock at the door? Our door?" Foggy Nelson asked.

"Wait, Bentley? Expensive car Bentley? As in, whoever's at the door might own it? Well, I'm not working for free after all..." Karen rushed to said door, greeted by a man she correctly thought looked like a butler.

"Good morning, madam, are these the offices of Nelson and Murdock?" The butler said, his English accent reinforcing her assumption.

"Yes, they are. This is Mister Murdock, and Mister Nelson," she gestured to the relevant men in turn.

"Good. I am Alfred Pennyworth, and this is Master Bruce Wayne. We were wondering if your firm took walk-in clients? We have a legal matter of a somewhat pressing nature that must be dealt with."

The trio of Murdock, Nelson, and Page were silent for a moment, until Foggy spoke up.

"...We do take walk-in clients, sirs. But I do have to ask... Is that your car outside and wait, did you say __Bruce Wayne__!?"


End file.
